


Blood of My Blood

by professoriisms



Series: Blood of my Blood [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Doctor Who, Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who (2005), Game of Thrones (TV), Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-20
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2019-01-01 02:09:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12146364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/professoriisms/pseuds/professoriisms
Summary: A second book series regarding my OC, the Professor (face claim: Richard Madden). Not in the timeline (or Universe) as Once Upon a Time Lord.https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bmT6uOzQJ_wAs the Professor tries to search for his mentor after he seemingly gave his life to stop his father Peter Pan, the Professor crashes into Pentos, where his life will never be the same again.





	1. Prologue

The TARDIS shook violently. Inside, the Professor was at the console, flicking switches like mad. He was trying to find an old family friend and his mentor, Rumplestiltskin. He had recently gone missing after he sacrificed himself to stop his evil father, Peter Pan, from destroying the town of Storybrooke. But something was odd about it. He didn't exactly know what, but the Professor knew something was odd.

In an attempt to stabilise the TARDIS, he pressed the blue stabilisers. But when he did, a loud, shrieking noise came across the speakers in the room. Two more shrieks followed suit. Like some kind of message. Or worse: A warning.

Going over to the monitor, he flicked a couple of switches, hoping the TARDIS could translate it for him – which it barely did. But it did manage to find three similar words. _Winter is Coming_.

The TARDIS came to a large thud and everything went black.

* * *

Meanwhile, in a fair off land, in a city called Pentos, a young, blonde woman stood on a balcony facing the sea. She was nervous, and looking out towards the sea had always calmed her. But not today. For today she was to meet her future husband.

She focusing on the horizon, wishing to be someone else, when a man called out to her. "Daenerys!"

She turned around slowly, not wanting to see her brother – for he was the one who was marrying her off to some Horse Lord she never wanted to marry.

"Daenerys," her brother said again, walking into the large, stone room. In his arms, he had a piece of soft, white fabric. He saw her on the balcony and started to go over to her. "There's our bride to be." Daenerys turned and walked slowly around the hot tub to meet him halfway. "Look, a gift from Illyrio." He held it out to her, "Touch it. Go on, feel the fabric." Daenerys gingerly felt the fabric. "Mmmm … Isn't he a gracious host?"

"We've been his guests for over a year and he's never asked us for anything," Daenerys said.

"Illyrio's no fool. He knows I won't forget my friends when I come into my throne," Viserys said, putting the fabric. "You still slouch." He leaned closer to her sister and put his hands onto her dress. "Let them see," he said, unfastening her dress and pushing it down her body, revealing her naked body. "You have a woman's body now." He ran his right hand down her body, caressing over her left nipple and breast.

"I need you to be perfect today," Viserys continued. "Can you do that for me?" Daenerys stared up at her, not sure of what to say. "You don't want to wake the dragon, do you?"

Daenerys softly shook her head. "No," she said quietly.

Content with her answer, Viserys smiled and turned away, before walking out the room. "When they write the history of my reign, sweet sister, they will say it began today."

Daenerys turned to the hot tub slowly, til she faced it. Standing at the base, she stared out the balcony. She continued to stare out at it when a brown blur flew past. Daenerys was confused. She had never seen anything like it before. As she continued to think of what it could be, she slowly descended into the scolding, hot water of the tub.

* * *

After her refreshing bath, Daenerys met her brother and host at the front door. The three were waiting for the Horse Lord to show. "Where is he?" Viserys asked the brown, bushy-bearded man known as Illyrio.

"The Dothraki are not known for their punctuality," Illyrio said.

Hearing faint galloping, the three descended down the path.

"Athchomar chomakaan, Khal vezhven," Illyrio said in Dothraki. "May I present my honoured guests? Viserys of House Targaryen, the third of his name, the rightful King of the Andals and the First Men, and his sister, Daenerys of House Targaryen."

Viserys leaned in to his sister. "Do you see how long his hair is?" He asked of the leader. "When Dothraki are defeated in combat, they cut off their braid so the whole world can see their shame. Khal Drogo has never been defeated. He's a savage, of course, but he's one of the finest killers alive. And you will be his Queen."

Illyrio turned around. "Come forward, my dear."

Daenerys began to walk up to the Dothraki leader, the silk dress she was wearing waving in the slight breeze and exposing her womanly features. Stopping near enough at Khal Drogo's horse, Daenerys' gaze never left his as she tried to calm her nerves. After a few minutes off continuous looking, Khal Drogo and his bloodriders rode off again.

Viserys ran up to them. "Where's he going?"

"The ceremony is over," Illyrio said.

"But he … But he didn't say anything. Did he like her?"

"Trust me, your Grace, if he didn't like her, we'd know."

* * *

After his crash landing, the Professor woke up groggily. Getting up slowly, he exited his ship and into the city that awaited him. Looking around at the terracotta rooves and brick buildings, he thought he was in Ancient Greece. Or Ancient Rome.

He walked through the paved streets til he heard a rumbling noise. Like thunder. He turned around and a few savages on horseback.  _The raids begin..._  he thought.

Deciding to follow them, he hid behind a tree. Peeking out, he saw three people – two blondes and a brown headed man – greet the savages.  _No … Not raids. An arranged marriage..._

Watching the scene unfold, he hid behind the tree again once the savages took off again and the blond and brown haired males went into the building again – leaving the blonde female just standing there.  _God, she's beautiful..._  
Once he thought the coast was clear, he walked up to her. "Hello..." he began.

Daenerys stared at him. She wasn't used to have this much attention. In fact, she didn't want to have any attention at all. She hoped this was all a dream. She closed her eyes and counted to ten. Opening them, she found he was still there.

"Are you alright?" The Professor began, reaching his right hand to her left arm.

Daenerys backed away slightly, shaking her head slightly. "No ..." she said slightly. "My brother...If he finds out ..."

The Professor furrowed his brows. "Is your brother abusive?" He asked. "I'm not gonna hurt you. I'm known as the Professor. I'm here to help."

"Help?" She asked. "You don't even know what the problem is."

"So there is a problem?"

Daenerys was gonna say something,but her brother called out. "Daenerys!"

"I have to go," Daenerys said, starting to turn.

"Wait..." The Professor began, walking up to her. He reached into his coat pocket, taking out a silver, Yale key – one of the spare keys to his ship. He took Daenerys hand and put the key in hers. "Have this. If you change your mind and want to talk to someone, just hold the key near. I'll come to you."

Daenerys nodded slowly and turned around, heading back to the building of Illyrio. Yes, this was an unusual day indeed.


	2. Ned

A couple days later, in the city of King's Landing, the royal party arrived at the gates. The Stark household were close to the front, with Ned Stark riding his white stallion ahead of the carriage that sat his two daughters: Sansa and Ayra. They rode down a sandy and dusty road towards the real castle when they stopped – a few metres from it.

Ned got off his horse and went over to a young, dark-haired male, who was approaching him. "Welcome, Lord Stark," he greeted. "Grand Maester Pycelle has called a meeting of the Small Council. The honour of your presence is requested."

Ned Stark looked back at his daughters. "Get the girls settled in," Ned told the Septa who was with them. "I'll be back in time for supper." Then his attention turned to the man on the horse. "And, Jory. You go with them."

"Yes, my Lord," Jory replied.

"If you'd like to change into something more appropriate ..." the young male began, but Ned took off his black leather riding gloves. Once they were off, the young male led Ned Stark to the Chamber of the Hand of the King.

On the way, however, they had to pass through the Throne room, where the Iron Throne was kept. A prodigious chair, it was over 300 years old and made from the many swords of the first Targaryen king Westeros had seen: Aegon I.

Waiting for him in the Throne room was the blonde haired Jaime Lannister, who was sitting on the stone steps in front of the throne otherwise known as the Kingslayer. He was known as the Kingslayer because 20 years earlier, he had stabbed the last Targaryen king – King Aerys – in the back.

Ned had gotten halfway into the room, when Jaime had noticed him. "Thank the Gods you are here, Stark," he said. "About time we had some stern Northern leadership."

"Glad to see you're protecting the throne," Ned replied.

"Sturdy old thing. How many kings' arses have polished it, I wonder? Um, what's that line? The King shits and the Hand wipes."

"Very handsome armour," was all that Ned said, hoping to change the subject. "Not a scratch on it."

"I know," Jaime said, rather calmly. "People have been swinging at me for years, but they always seem to miss."

"You've chosen your opponents wisely then."

"I have a knack for it." Then there was silence, til Jaime continued. "It must be strange for you, coming into this room. I was standing right here when it happened. He was very brave, your brother. Your father, too. They didn't deserve to die like that. Nobody deserves to die like that."

"But you just stood there and watched."

"500 men just stood there and watched. All the great knights of the Seven Kingdoms. You think anyone said a word, lifted a finger? No, Lord Stark. 500 men and this room was silent as a crypt. Except for the screams, of course, and the Mad King laughing. And later ...when I watched the Mad King die, I remembered him laughing as your father burned … It felt like justice."

"Is that what you tell yourself at night? You're a servant of justice? That you were avenging my father when you shoved your sword in Aerys Targaryen's back?"  
"Tell me, if I'd stabbed the Mad King in the belly instead of the back, would you admire me more?"

"You served him well … When serving was safe." Ned then walked off past him as he continued into the Chamber of the Hand of the King.

When he entered the chamber, Lord Varys was the first to greet him. "Lord Stark," he said, as he stood up and went over to him.

"Lord Varys," Ned said, shaking his hand.

"I was grievously sorry to hear of your troubles on the Kingsroad. We are all praying for Prince Joffrey's full recovery."

"A shame you didn't say a prayer for the butcher's son." Ned walked past Varys and saw King Robert's younger brother. "Renly! You're looking well." He gave the male a hug.

"And you look tired from the road," Renly said. "I told them this meeting could wait another day..."

"But we have a Kingdom to look after," another man finished. Ned turned around and saw the voice belonged to Petyr Baelish, otherwise known as Littlefinger. "I've hoped to meet you for some time, Lord Stark. No doubt Lady Catelyn has mentioned me."

"She has, Lord Baelish," Ned said. "I understand you knew my brother Brandon as well."

"All too well. I still carry a token of his esteem … from naval to collarbone."

"Perhaps you chose the wrong man to duel with."

"It wasn't the man that I chose, my lord. It was Catelyn Tully. A woman worth fighting for, I'm sure you'll agree."

"I humbly beg your pardon," Grand Maester Pycelle interrupted, "my Lord Stark."

Ned turned to the sound of the voice. "Grand Maester."

He nodded."How many years has it been?You were a young man."

"And you served another king."

"Oh, how forgetful of me." Pycelle reached into one of his cloaks pockets, where he began to dig around for something. He pulled out a metal pin, and extended it to Ned. "This belongs to you now." Ned took the golden pin in his right hand and thumbed over the surface. "Should we begin?"

"Without the King?" Ned asked.

"Winter may be coming, but the same cannot be said for my brother," Renly said.

"His Grace has many cares," Varys said. "He entrusts some small matters to us that we might lighten the load."

"We are the lords of small matters here," Lord Baelish said.

Renly handed Ned a rolled up piece of parchment, to which Ned took it and sat down himself. "My brother instructs us to stage a tournament in honour of Lord Stark's appointment."

"Mmm... How much?"

"40,000 gold dragons to the champion," Ned began, "20,000 to the runner up, 20,000 to the winning archer."

"Can the treasury bear such expenses?" Grand Maester Pycelle asked.

"I'll have to borrow it," Lord Baelish replied. "The Lannisters will accommodate, I expect. We already owe Lord Tywin three million gold. What's another 80,000?"

Ned stared at Lord Baelish. "Are you telling me the Crown is three million in debt?"

"I'm telling you the Crown is six million in debt."

"How could you let this happen?"

"The master of coin finds the money. The King and the Hand spend it."

"I will not believe Jon Arryn allowed Robert to bankrupt the realm."

"Lord Arryn gave wise and prudent advice, but I fear His Grace doesn't always listen," Grand Maester Pycelle explained.

"'Counting coppers,' he calls it," Renly said.

"I'll speak to him tomorrow," Ned said. "This tournament is an extravagance we cannot afford."

"As you will," Lord Baelish said. "But still, we'd best make our plans."

"There will be no plans..." Ned snapped at Lord Baelish. "Until I speak to Robert." He rubbed his face with his hands. "Forgive me, my lords. I'm … I had a long ride."

"You are the King's Hand, Lord Stark," Lord Varys said. "We serve at your pleasure."

* * *

The meeting went on for a few more minutes before it was all decided to split for the day. Everyone left one by one, til Ned was the last one at the table. He took a deep sigh, before he got up and started to walk out.

As he started to walk out, he was stopped by someone. A male in a blue leather outfit. An outfit that didn't look too familiar in the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. "I've been expecting you for quite some time, dearie," he said.

Ned looked at him. "You have?" He asked. "And who might you be?"

"Rumplestiltskin," he introduced himself. "I've come to help you. And you're family."

"Why do you want to help me?"

"Well, I see the future, and I foresaw a time where a great evil will fall across this land," Rumplestiltskin explained. "And I'm the only one to stop it. Come, we have much to discuss."


	3. Daenerys

Meanwhile, in Essos, Daenerys had wed the Dothraki leader Khal Drogo, and was travelling with him to the Dothraki city in the middle of Essos. She wasn't alone though. With her was her brother and Ser Jorah Mormont, an exiled knight of Westeros.

Although she was still new – and still a bit unsure – with Dothraki ways, she was slowly adapting. Gone were her silk dresses. Now, she wore Dothraki clothes – a khaki singlet, pants and boots all made out of flax and horse skin. There was only one person whom Daenerys could actually trust in the group: Ser Jorah Mormont. But there was still someone on her mind. The man she had met in Pentos. She never got his name, but she found him intriguing. And she still had the key he had given her. Though she hardly thought how a key was supposed to help her see him again.

"Do the Dothraki buy their slaves?" Daenerys asked Jorah.

"The Dothraki don't believe in money," Jorah started to explain. "Most of their slaves were given to them as gifts."

"From whom?"

"If you rule a city and you see a horde approaching, you have two choices – pay tribute or fight. An easy choice for most. Of course, sometimes it's not enough. Sometimes a Khal feels insulted by the number of slaves he's given. He might think the men too weak or the women too ugly. Sometimes a Khal decided his riders haven't had a good fight in months and need the practise."

Up ahead of the two, was a Dothraki rider and a slave walking beside him. The slave – who had been carrying some of the Dothraki luggage on his back – had slowed his pace and the Dothraki rider had gotten angry. He shouted in Dothraki at the slave and hit him over the head with his whip.

Daenerys didn't like it. She needed to go and take a breather. Try and clear her head. "Tell them all to stop," she told Jorah.

"You want the entire horde to stop?" Jorah asked. "For how long?"

"Until I command them otherwise."

"You're learning to talk like a queen."

"Not a Queen. A Khaleesi." Daenerys got off from her white mare and walked into the bush on the side of the road, while Jorah spoke to the Dothraki in their language.

She weaved her way through the scrawny trunks til she came to an open. She let out a sigh of relief.  _Alone at last_ , she thought. But the peaceful silence didn't last long. To her right, she heard the rustling of branches and a sword's blade clanging against them. Someone else was coming. She turned around to where the sound came from. Backing away slightly, she heard a horse neigh and the hooves against the ground.

"You dare!" Viserys roared. "You give demands to me?! To me?! You do not command the dragon." He got off his horse and went over to his sister, grabbing her throat. "I am the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. I don't take orders from savages or their sluts. Do you understand me?"

Daenerys reached into her pocket and grabbed the key that the strange man had given her and clutched it in her hand, bringing it to her chest. She was scared. She was frightened.

"You hear me?" Viserys continued, as another noise began to approach. He looked around to figure out where it was coming from, or what it was. A wheezing and groaning sound.

Daenerys looked down at the key, which began to glow in synch to the noise. The noise became louder and louder til a faint [brown box](http://68.media.tumblr.com/4ca9c0e6123110a11b4dcc69789f9acc/tumblr_inline_osk372t0Zr1twzlf3_500.jpg) became to appear – from becoming see through to more realistic.

Viserys stared at it til other Dothraki riders appeared. One of them was the male who had hit the slave minutes before. He used his whip and wrapped the end around Viserys throat, pulling him away from Daenerys.

Unknown to everyone, someone had exited the small box and walked over to where Daenerys was. "I see you've decided to trust me..." he began.

Daenerys turned her head. The man from Pentos. He was here. "Well, um … I was scared … Afraid my brother was going to hurt me."

The other Dothraki turned their heads to the newest member of the group. "Who's he?" The rider with the whip asked in Dothraki.

The Professor looked up. "I'm a friend of hers," he said, pointing at Daenerys. "I'm the Professor."

Daenerys looked at the Professor in amazement. He spoke Dothraki well.

"Is this true?" the rider asked Daenerys. But since she didn't actually understand the language, one of her handmaidens translated for her.

"Yes," Daenerys answered.

Meanwhile, Viserys was on the ground, gagging and gasping for air. Everyone looked at him, and the rider said something in Dothraki,to which the handmaiden translated, "Rakharo ask if you want him dead, Khaleesi."

"No," Daenerys answered.

Rakharo said something again. "Rakharo say you should take ear, to teach respect," the handmaiden translated.

"Please. Please. Don't hurt him," Daenerys said. "Tell him, I don't want my brother harmed."

Her handmaiden translated it into Dothraki for Rakharo. "Huh?" Rakharo asked the handmaiden, to which she nodded slowly. He then released the whip from around Viserys' neck, whom gasped loudly.

He got up slowly. "Mormont! Kill these Dothraki dogs!" He ordered, but there was no response. Jorah just looked from Viserys to Rakharo. "I am your king!"

"Shall we return to the khalasar, Khaleesi?" Jorah asked Daenerys.

Daenerys nodded slowly. "Could he come along?" Daenerys asked, then turned to the Professor. "I'm sorry. I don't know your name..."

"Professor. I'm known as the Professor," he said. "But I … Uh, don't have a horse..."

"You can use that," Jorah said, pointing to the horse that Viserys had been riding before.

"What?!" Viserys asked, outraged. "But that's my horse." He began to go over to it, but Rakharo stopped him.

"Uh uh uh uh uh. You ….Walk."

The Professor went over to the horse and mounted it himself. "By the way, I want that box taken with us," he said to Rakharo, pointing at the TARDIS.

Rakharo looked at Daenerys, who was being helped onto her white mare by her handmaiden, who translated what had been said. "Let the box be taken with us," she said, and the handmaiden translated it back to Rakharo.

Rakharo sighed and went over to the other Dothraki. While they were organising a wagon for the TARDIS, the Professor rode his horse over to Daenerys and Jorah.

* * *

The horde rode their way across the Dothraki Sea (which wasn't really a sea at all. In reality it was a vast prairie) til the Sun set that day and they had make camp.

As they rode, the Professor got acquainted to Daenerys and Jorah.

"Your Dothraki is quite excellent," Jorah said.

"You could teach me," Daenerys suggested.

"Well ..." the Professor began. "I must confess something. I wasn't really speaking Dothraki. My ship … It has a telepathic field that gets inside your brain. You've seen what it can do."

"When I had that key, I thought of you. I needed help..." Daenerys began.

The Professor nodded. "The keys are a part of my ship. They have the same telepathic field my ship has – which amplified your thoughts across time and space so I could pinpoint your location in my ship. But, the key's telepathic field is still too weak to be able to translate other languages. For that, you'll have to travel in the TARDIS. It is a gift that the TARDIS gives."

Daenerys nodded slowly. "So, I should come with you one day..."

The Professor smiled softly. "Yeah. I would like it if you did. You, Daenerys, are remarkable."

* * *

A few hours later, once the camp was set up, the Professor, Ser Jorah Mormont and Rakharo were sitting around a fire while Daenerys was in the hut with her handmaidens. Though the Professor wasn't really listening. He had other things on his mind.

"For a man on horseback, the curved blade is a good thing," Jorah said, running his hand over Rakharo's blade, before he flipped it over. "Easier to handle. It's a good weapon for a Dothrakan. But a man in full plate ..." he gestured his right hand over his chest, while translating the latter. "... The arakh won't get through the steel." He handed the curved blade back to Rakharo, before picking up his sword. "That's where the broadsword has the advantage. Designed for piercing the plate."

"Dothraki don't where steal dresses," Rakharo rebutted.

"Armour," Jorah said, correcting him.

"Armour," Rakharo repeated. "Armour make a man, erm ..." He tried to think of the English word but said the Dothraki word.

"Slow," Jorah corrected. "It's true, but it also keeps a man alive."

"My father taught me how to fight. He taught me that speed defeats size."

"I've heard that your father was a famous warrior."

"He was a bloodrider to Khal Bharbo. And your father, Jorah the Andal? He was a warrior also?"

"He still is. A man of great honour. And I betrayed him."

All three were silent til Daenerys' handmaiden appeared from the tent. "Khaleesi wants to eat something different tonight. Kill some rabbits."

"There are no rabbits," Rakharo told her.

"Find some ducks, she likes ducks."

"Have you seen any ducks, woman? No rabbits, no ducks."

The Professor got up and faced the handmaiden. "Tell Daenerys that I'll make her something," he said, as he started to head for his ship, but the handmaiden stopped him.

"Wait," she said. "There's something else."

The Professor turned around. "Hmmm?"

"The Khaleesi have baby inside her."

"She's pregnant?"

She nodded. "It is true. She does not bleed for two moons. Her belly start to swell."

"A blessing from the Great Stallion," Rakharo said in Dothraki.

"I'll make her something really special then," the Professor said, and the handmaiden nodded, before entering Daenerys tent.


	4. Ned

It had only been two days that Ned had been in King's Landing and already he had had two meetings to go to. He was the Hand of the King, of course.

As the second meeting wrapped up the next day, Ned was walking through the Throne Room with Rumplestiltskin, when they heard soft footsteps behind him. "Lord Stark," a voice called out to him. Ned turned around, and saw it was Grand Maester Pycelle. "I meant … to give you this earlier..." he said, wheezing slightly as he caught up to Ned and gave him a rolled up piece of paper. "So forgetful these days. A raven from Winterfell this morning."

Ned acknowledged the Maester and unfurled the paper as Grand Maester began to walk on.

"Well, dearie, what does it say?" Rumplestiltskin asked.

"My son, Bran," Ned started to say. "He lives."

"Isn't that good news?" Lord Baelish said, as he entered the throne room. "Maybe you'd want to share it with your wife."

"My wife is in Winterfell," Ned told him.

"Is she?" Lord Baelish asked, as he started to walk out.

Both Rumple and Ned looked at him. "What a charming fellow..." Rumple muttered to Ned, who acknowledged him silently before they both followed Lord Baelish.

* * *

Lord Baelish led the two men to one of his Whorehouses, when he turned to Ned. "I thought that she'd be safest in here," he said, walking over to the door. "One of several such establishments I own."

But, as they got to the door, Ned grabbed Lord Baelish by the shoulder and pushed him against the wall. "You're a funny man," he said. "Huh? A very funny man."

"Allow me," Rumple said, as he reached into his chest. But he was distracted by a female's voice.

"Ned!" She called up, and both Ned and Rumple looked up at the woman peering over the balcony. It was Catelyn Stark – Ned's wife.

"Cat..." Ned muttered, then said to Rumple. "Let him go."

Rumple nodded and took his arm out of Lord Baelish's chest, before following Ned into the Whorehouse.

"Ah … the Starks..." Lord Baelish said, collecting himself. "Quick tempers, slow minds."

* * *

Inside Lord Baelish's main room of his Whorehouse, both Ned and Rumple met with Catelyn Stark.

"The mere suggestion that the Queen's brother tried to kill your boy would be considered treason," Lord Baelish told them.

"We have proof," Catelyn protested. "We have the blade."

"Which Lord Tyrion will say was stolen from him. The only man who could say otherwise has no throat, thanks to your boy's wolf."

"You seem to know too much of the situation," Rumple said.

"I know these things too well. They happen quite a here."

Catelyn turned to Ned. "Petyr has promised to help us find the truth."

"So has Rumplestiltskin," Ned told her.

"Yes. But I know Petyr better than him, Ned. He's like a little brother to me. He would never betray my trust."

"I'll try to keep you alive, for her sake," Lord Baelish said. "A fool's task, admittedly, but I've never been able to refuse your wife anything."

"I won't forget this," Catelyn told him. "You're a true friend."

"Don't tell anyone. I have a reputation to maintain."

"And I can find out more about this blade," Rumple said.

"We have already found out all about it," Catelyn told him.

"Maybe. Maybe not," Rumple said. "Leave everything to me."

"Not quite everything. I do have my ways."


	5. Daenerys

The horde of Dothraki rode on across the Dothraki Sea for the next few days. For most of the days, only the Professor rode by Daenerys' side, til Jorah Mormont returned back from his trip to Qoroh. Other than Jorah, the Professor was the only one who Daenerys could count on (other than her handmaidens). Of course, her husband was slowly warming up to her.

They rode on til they spied a statue of two horses bucking each other. They rode towards it as it was the first feature of the Dothraki city, Vaes Dothrak.

"Vaes Dothrak – the city of the horselords," Jorah explained to Daenerys and the Professor.

"A pile of mud," Viserys replied, when he caught up to the three. "Mud and shit and twigs. Best these savages can do?"

The Professor turned his head. "Your cities would have been like this too, you know. When your ancestors were still developing. You should show some respect."

"I'll call them what I like," Viserys retorted. "Because they are my people. This is my army. Khal Drogo is marching the wrong way with my army."

He started to gallop on his horse again, while the others kept their pace to a trot.

"You're brother's a distasteful fellow," the Professor said to Daenerys. "He should be careful of what he says."

"He won't. He'll never be careful," Daenerys replied. "So, if he was given an army of Dothraki, could you conquer the Seven Kingdoms?"

"The Dothraki have never crossed the Narrow Sea," Jorah answered. "They fear any water their horses can't drink."

"If they did?" The Professor asked.

"King Robert is a fool enough to meet them in open battle, but the men advising him are different."

"And you know these men?" Daenerys asked.

"I fought beside them once," Jorah answered. "Long ago. Now, Ned Stark wants my head. He drove me from my land."

"What did you do?" The Professor asked.

"He sold slaves," Daenerys answered.

"Aye," Jorah said.

"Why?" The Professor asked again.

"I had no money, and an expensive wife."

"Where is she now?" Daenerys asked.

"In another place, with another man."

* * *

The next afternoon, once everyone had settled into Vaes Dothrak, Viserys barged his way into Daenerys' hut, dragging a young woman by her hair. Daenerys stepped back from her table that she had been putting jewellery and golden cups onto when he entered.

"You send this whore to give me commands?!" Viserys shouted, as he through the former prostitute onto the ground. "I should have sent you back her head!"

"Forgive me, Khaleesi," the whore – commonly known as Doreah – said, tears running down her face. "I did as you asked."

"Hush now. It's alright. Irri, take her and leave us," Daenerys said to her handmaidens.

"Yes, Khaleesi," Irri said, getting up from her seat, and helping Doreah up, before the two where out of the hut.

"Why did you hit her?!" Daenerys asked her brother.

"How many times do I have to tell you?" Viserys asked, ignoring the question. "You do not command me!"

"I wasn't commanding you. I just wanted to invite you to supper."

But Viserys wasn't listening. He looked around. "What's this?" He asked, holding up some leather.

"It's a gift," Daenerys answered. "I had it made for you."

"Dothraki rags? Are you going to dress me now?"

"Please."

Viserys threw the leather outfit back to Daenerys, before throwing some of the golden chains at her too. "This stinks of manure. All of it."

"Stop. Stop. Stop it."

"You would turn me into one of the, wouldn't you? Next you'll want to braid my hair."

"You've no right to a braid. You've won no battles yet."

"You do not talk back to me!" Viserys said, outraged. He raised his hand and slapped his sister, hard, making her fall to the ground. "You are a horselord's slut. And now you've woken the dragon ..."

Before he could go down and enact more violence towards his sister, he began to gasp for air. His whole body lifted a few centimetres and he clawed his throat for air. Daenerys looked up at him before looking around to see what was going on when she saw the Professor slowly walk in, his right hand hold up, like it was gripping something.

"Haven't learned you lesson.. About showing respect?" The Professor asked. Viserys couldn't speak. He only gasped and gagged for air. The Professor continued. "Now, I won't you to leave here, and think about it. Otherwise you might see the fury of a Time Lord."

The Professor eyed Viserys carefully, before releasing his hand and Viserys dropped to the ground. He let out a few gasps of air before getting up and running out of the tent.

When he was gone, Daenerys turned to the Professor. "What just happened? How did you do that with him?"

"Magic," he told her, to which she gave a look of disbelief.

"You are completely impossible," Daenerys responded, as she found herself hugging him as a sign of thanks for coming in when he did.

"No. Not impossible. Just very unlikely," he responded, as hugged her back.

The hug lasted for a few seconds when she pulled away, realising what happened. "You harmed him. You harmed the dragon."

The Professor looked back. "Dragon?"

"My family – the Targaryen's – have had a close bond with the dragons. And some of us have had dragon like properties. My eldest brother – Rhaegar – was said to be the last Targaryen with those properties, but Viserys says he has them too," Daenerys explained.

"Just because he calls himself a dragon doesn't make him one. His personality is just … Everywhere. I know his sort. I don't think he's this dragon. His personality doesn't meet the part."

"He is still the true king" Daenerys said.

"A king shouldn't treat his sister – or his subjects – like that," the Professor replied. "He may be next in line to the throne, but he is no king. I don't think you want to see him on that throne over there."

"No. Of course not. But the common people over there are waiting for him. Illyrio said they are sewing dragon banners and praying for his return."

"I don't think they are. If they are like the common people elsewhere, they'll be praying to live. To have enough crops to survive. You told me this rebellion was nearly twenty years ago. They probably forgot about the last of the Targaryens. They'll call you a myth."

"But Illyrio said ..." Daenerys began.

"What he said may have had some truth, but it won't be all the common people. And not enough for an army. Like I said, they'll be only praying to survive."

"What do you pray for, Professor?"

"Home. Well, some place I can call home."

"I pray for home too," Daenerys said, thinking of what the Professor had said, and letting it all sink in. "My brother will never take back the Seven Kingdoms. He couldn't lead an army even if my husband gave him one. He'll never take us home."


	6. Ned

Ned took a deep sigh, and looked up at the guest in front of the small council. He rubbed his temples slowly. He had to help run a kingdom – a country – and it was a nightmare. And to make matters worse, he had to find a way to be able to beat the Lannisters.

“It’s the Hand’s Tournament that’s causing all this trouble, my Lords,” the guest – the City Watch commander - remarked.

“The King’s Tournament,” Ned retorted, as he leaned back against his chair. “I assure you the Hand wants no part in it.”

“Call it what you will, Lord Stark, ser, the city is packed with people and more flooding in every day. Last night we had a tavern riot, a brothel fire, three stabbings and a drunken horse race down the Street of Sisters.”

“How terribly uncivilised,” Rumple muttered, whom was sitting at Ned’s right hand.

“If you can’t keep the King’s Peace, perhaps the City Watch should be commanded by someone who can,” Renly Baratheon added.

Rumple looked over at Renly. “I think I’m just the person to do that, dearie.”

The City Watch commander shook his head, staring coldly at Rumple. “I need more men.”

“You’ll get 50,” Ned told him sternly. “Lord Baelish will see it paid for.”

Petyr looked up in surprise. “I will?”

“You found money for a champion’s purse, you can find money to keep the peace.” He took a breath. “I’ll also give you 20 of my household guard, till the crowds have left.”

The City Watch commander bowed his head. “Thank you, my Lord Hand, ser. They will be put to good use.” He bowed again, before turning to leave.

Ned reached out to his cup, and took a gulp of water. “The sooner this is over, the better.”

“The realm prospers from such events, my lord,” Varys remarked. “They give the great a chance at glory, and the lowly a respite from their woes.”

“And every inn in the city is full and te whores are walking bow-legged,” Petyr added.

“I’m sure this tournament gives everyone a bit of money,” Rumple retorted.

“Hmmm...” Petyr acknowledged, before looking down at his papers again.

“Now, if there’s nothing else, my lords?” Ned asked, before he began to get up, and the rest followed him. They all nodded their heads at each other, before leaving for their separate ways.

Grand Maester Pycelle was the last to leave, for he walked very slowly. “Oh, this heat,” he complained. “On days like this, I envy you northerners. Your summer snows. Until tomorrow, my Lords.”

Ned walked around the table to catch up with the old maester. “I’ve been hoping to talk to you about Jon Arryn.

Grand Maester Pycelle turned around. “Lord Arryn?” He repeated. “Oh, his death was a great sadness to all of us. I took personal charge of his care, but I could not save him. His sickness struck him very hard, and very fast. I saw him in my chambers just the night before he passed. Lord Jon often came to me for counsel.”

“Why?” Ned asked.

“I have been grand maester for many years. Kings and Hands have come to me for advice ...”

“If you know something, dearie, you will tell us,” Rumple demanded.

“He came inquiring after a book,” Grand Maester Pycelle told them.

Ned looked back at Rumple. “A book? What book?”

“Oh, I fear it would be of little interest to you, my lord. A … A ponderous tome.”

Ned shook his head softly. “Mo. I’d like to read it,” Ned told the maester.

The Grand Maester led the two throughout the Red Keep, till they arrived at his studies. He walked over to an old, brown desk, and pulled out a leather bound book. “ _The Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms_ , with descriptions of many high lords and noble ladies and their children,” he explained, taking a seat in his chair.

Ned approached the desk and took the book. He unlocked it and opened it up, beginning to leaf through the old pages. “Harkon Umber, first of his name. Born to Lord Hother Umber and Lady Amaryllis Umber in the year 183rd year after Aegon’s landing at the Last Hearth. Blue of eye, brown of hair and fair complected. Died in his 14th year of a wound sustained in a bear hunt,” Ned read.

“As I said, my lord, a ponderous read,” Grand Maester Pycelle said.

“Did Jon Arryn tell you what he wanted with it?” Ned asked.

“He did not, my lord. And I did not presume to ask.”

“And Jon’s death...” Rumple began.

“Such a tragedy,” Grand Maester Pycelle finished.

“Did he say anything to you during his final hours,” Ned asked.

“Nothing of import, my lord. Oh … There was one phrase he kept repeating. ‘The seed is strong’, I think it was.”

“’The seed is strong’?” Rumple repeated. “So, he talked in riddles? What did it mean?”

“The dying mind is a demented mind, my lord. For all the weight they’re given, last words are usually as significant as first words.”

“I beg to differ.”

“And you’re quite certain he died of a natural illness?” Ned asked.

“What else could it be?” Grand Maester Pycelle asked.

“Poison?” Rumple asked, and Ned nodded solemnly. “This is a strange land, full of enemies. Jon Arryn may have found something his enemies may have wanted to keep hidden.”

“A disturbing thought,” Grand Maester Pycelle mused. “No, no, no. I don’t think it likely. The Hand was loved by all. What sort of man would dare ...”

“I’ve heard it said that poison is a woman’s weapon,” Ned interrupted.

“Yes,” Grand Maester Pycelle nodded. “Women. Cravens … and eunuchs.” He tilted his head. “Did you know that Lord Varys is a eunuch?”

“Everybody knows that,” Ned answered.

“Yes. Yes, of course. How that sort of man found himself on the King’s council, I will never know.”

Ned leaned forward, and closed the book, doing up the metal clasp. “We’ve taken enough of your time,” he said.

“No trouble at all, my lords. It’s a great honour.”

“Thank you, dearie,” Rumple said with a slight nod. “We’ll find our own way out.” The two of them turned to leave, walking out of the old maester’s room, and walked through the corridors.

Ned looked over at his friend. “So, Rumple, what do you think?”

Rumple turned to face him. “I think there is much more than that wizened old man is telling us,” he told him. “One thing I do know, though … Lord Jon Arryn didn’t die from a natural cause.”

Ned was going to say something, when they bumped into Arya, who was balancing on one leg on the edge of some stone stairs.

“Arya, right?” Rumple asked, pointing a finger at her. Ned nodded, and moved slowly over to his daughter.

“Syrio says a water dancer can stay on one toe for hours,” Arya explained to the both of them.

“But, if you fall, dearie, it’ll be a hard fall down those steps,” Rumple told her.

“Syrio says every hurt is a lesson, and every lesson makes you better.”

“I’d like to meet this Syrio,” Rumple mused.

Arya put her other foot down on the ground. “Tomorrow,” she told him. “Tomorrow I’m going to be chasing cats.”

“Cats?” Ned asked, puzzled. But, then he realised the answer. “Syrio says?”

“He says every swordsman should study cats. They’re as quiet as shadows and as light as feathers. You have to be quick to catch them.”

Ned nodded. “He’s right about that.” He turned to leave, but Arya stopped them.

“Now that Bran’s awake, will he come live with us?”

“Well, he needs to get his strength back first,” Ned answered.

“He wants to be a knight of the kingsguard. He can’t be one now, can he?”

“Well, that depends,” Rumple began. “On whether he wants me to heal him.”

Arya sat down on the steps, and Ned approached his daughter, taking a seat next to her. “Someday, he could be lord of a holdfast. Or sit on the King’s council. Or, he might raise castles like Brandon the builder.”

“Can I be lord of a holdfast?” Arya asked.

Ned chuckled, and kissed his daughters forehead. “You will marry a high lord and rule his castle. And your sons shall be knights and princes and lords. Hmmm?”

No,” Arya stated in a whisper. “That’s not me.” She got up, and walked back up to the top of the stairs, where she began to balance again. Ned watched her, and chuckled softly.


	7. Rumplestiltskin

The next afternoon was the Hand’s Tourney, and Ned Stark had sent Rumple down their on his behalf. To look around. To see if anyone looked suspicious. And to look after his children – make sure no harm came to them. He walked down the steps to where Sansa was sitting. He saw her looking at Joffrey. He looked at where she was looking, and Joffrey turned his head.

“You ought to be careful, dearie,” Rumple said, taking a seat next to her.

Sansa turned her head. “You’re father’s friend?”

Rumple nodded. “I am. He’s quite a remarkable man, your father,” he said, when Petyr Baelish arrived.

Sansa looked up at him. “Do I … Do I know you?” She asked.

“This is Lord Petyr Baelish,” Rumple introduced. “And what brings you here, Lord Baelish?”

“I thought I’d introduce myself to Lady Starks daughters,” he answered. “I’ve known your mother a long, long, time, San...”

“Why do they call you Littlefinger?” Arya, interrupted.

Sansa turned around, and glared at her younger sister. “Arya!!”

“Don’t be rude!” Septa Mordane told her.

“No. It’s quite alright,” Petyr remarked. “When I was a child, I was very small, and I come from a little spit of land called the Fingers. So, you see, it’s an exceedingly clever nickname.”

Behind them, King Robert stood up from his seat. “I’ve been sitting here for days!!” He roared, and his wife, the Queen Cersei, got up and left. “Start the damn joust before I piss myself!”

The crowd cheered, as a knight mounted on a black horse began to gallop down one side on the lanes, and stopped in the middle to greet the crowd.

“Gods. Who’s that?” Sansa asked.

“Ser Gregor Clegane,” Petyr answered. “They call him the Mountain. The Hound’s older brother.”

“And his opponent?”  
“Ser Hugh of the Vale. He was Jon Arryn’s squire. Look how far he has come.”

“Yes, yes!” King Robert roared again. “Enough of the bloody pomp. Have at him!”

The knights turned and galloped to their opposing ends of the jousting area, as a trumpet player blew a note. The knights charged at each other, lances at the ready. The Mountain swung his lance at Ser Hugh, and missed. They galloped on and turned around, ready to charge at each other again. They did, and their lances were at the ready again. The Mountain swung his lance at Ser Hugh again, and stabbed him in the throat, splinters of wood spraying everywhere. Sansa let out a scream, as Ser Hugh fell off his horse, a splinter of wood still lodged in his throat, as he gurgled on his own blood, which began to spray everywhere and fill his mouth. Rumple stood up from his seat, and looked over at Sansa and Arya, while two men pulled Ser Hugh’s lifeless body away.

“Not what you were expecting?” Petyr asked, leaning closer to the group. “Has anyone ever told you the story of the Mountain and the Hound? Lovely little tale of brotherly love. The Hound was just a pup. Six years old, maybe. Gregor a few years older – already a big lad, already getting a bit of a reputation. Some lucky boys just born with a talent for violence. One evening Gregor found his little brother playing with a toy by the fire – Gregor’s toy. A wooden knight. Gregor never said a word. He just grabbed his brother by the scruff of his neck and shoved his face into the burning coals. Held him there while the boy screamed. While his face melted. There aren’t very many people who know that story.”

“I won’t tell anyone. I promise,” Sansa spoke up.

“No. please don’t. If the Hound so much as heard you mention it, I’m afraid all the knights in King’s Landing would not be able to save you.”

Rumple looked over at Petyr. “That’s because he hasn’t met me, dearie.”

 

* * *

Meanwhile, Ned was still studying the book he had been given from Grand Maester Pycelle. He needed a break from it, so he walked onto the balcony to take a breath of fresh air. As he looked out from his balcony, he didn’t notice Rumple poof inside his room.

Rumple walked over to the balcony. “Did you find anything?” He asked.

Ned turned around, and shook his head. “No. Not yet, I’m afraid,” he answered. “How are the girls?”

“They’re fine. They’re shocked from what had happened before their eyes, but they’re resilient. They have their father in them.”

Ned walked into the room, when Jory entered. “My lord, Her Grace the Queen,” he told them as Cersei Lannister walked into Ned’s room. She approached the desk.

“Your Grace,” Ned and Rumple both acknowledged at the same time.

“Your missing your tournament,” she stated.

“Putting my name on it doesn’t make it mine,” Ned replied, when Cersei looked over at Rumple.

“How did you beat me here?” She asked.

“I took a shortcut,” Rumple answered. A lie, but he didn’t want her knowing what he was capable of. Not yet, anyway.

Cersei turned her attention to Ned again. “I thought we might put what happened on the Kingsroad behind us – the ugliness with the wolves. And forcing you to kill the beast was extreme.” She took a breath. “Though sometimes we go to extremes where our children are concerned. How is Sansa?”

“She likes it here,” Ned answered.

“The only Stark who does. Favours her mother. Not much of the North in her.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I might ask the same of you. What is it you hope to accomplish?”

“The King called on me to serve him and the realm. And that’s what I’ll do, until he tells me otherwise.”

“You can’t change him. You can’t help him. He’ll do what he wants, which is all he’s ever done.”

“You seem so sure of yourself, dearie,” Rumple told her.

“I’m married to him,” Cersei retorted. “You’ll only try your best to pick up the pieces.”

“If that’s my job, then so be it,” Ned told her.

“You’re just a soldier, aren’t you? You take your orders and you carry on. I suppose it makes sense. You’re older brother was trained to lead and you were trained to follow.”

“I was also trained to kill my enemies, Your Grace.”

“As was I.” She smiled at them both before she left the chamber.


End file.
